’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. “Please come home. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. “There was a keg, hash, LSD, pot, you know, the usual.
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